


Cagamosis – An unhappy marriage

by cormorans



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormorans/pseuds/cormorans
Summary: A very small one shot / drabble I initially wrote on my RP blog.





	Cagamosis – An unhappy marriage

**Author's Note:**

> A very small one shot / drabble I initially wrote on my RP blog.

IT HAD become a farce, their marriage; and they, a caricature. Charlotte would scream and he would drink. Charlotte would become violent and he would drink some more. Leave, sometimes. What Strike had feared would happen was unravelling, their reactions, their words, their fights worthy to feature in one of those soaps airing in the evening and which their neighbours were fond of. He could hear them through the walls, the loud volume of the television barely covering that of Charlotte’s screaming rages - perhaps because of those. Had it been naive of him to hope that rings would reconcile them with a life they had once known, if only briefly? Or had it been desperate of him?

“Leave,” she demanded, her voice almost back to its usual tone. Strike ignored it, ignored the cup she threw at him, ignored the broken pieces of porcelain upon which his shoes trod. From the fridge, a can of beer was plucked, opened, tipped back. The cool liquid splashed over his tongue, slid down his throat. It settled in the pit of his empty belly in an attempt at deceiving the hunger clawing at it in renewed rumbles.

“Leave!”  
This time, she shrieked the order. This time, he turned to regard her.

“Do you realise how fucking ridiculous we are?” Unlike hers, his voice remained calmed. Collected. So did he. For now. Later, he would undoubtedly match her verbal abuse with a few expletives of his own, shout and bellow, slam doors. Her anger was matched with the poised intention to hurt, to inflict the sames pain, to further damage he had thought weddings rings could mend. Strike’s gaze lingered on the broken cup on the kitchen floor. There were a thousand cruel things he could say to her, to force her into another diatribe about his job. About him. How easily the words would form and spill. Instead, he emptied the can.

The reasons behind their constant arguing, the reasons at the root of their miserable shared existences was far too deeply buried for Strike to attempt anything. Digging them out to dissect them, understand them, fix them was something he wouldn’t do ever again. Had Charlotte come to the same inevitable conclusion? Or was she still clinging to the remnants of their relationships, its morsels glued back together for the umpteenth time?

She screamed something else. He didn’t listen. He drank, drowned the conversation in three cans before, obliging her, he left. His departure had very little to do with Charlotte’s demands and all to do with the need to fill his stomach with something more solid than cheap lager. The pain in his knee compelled him to seek a seat at the nearest bus stop. It was there that he lit a cigarette and fished out his phone from his pocket.

“Robin? You still at the office?”


End file.
